


Variety

by gala_apples



Series: Desolation AU [3]
Category: Bandom, The Used
Genre: Gen, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bert wants variety in the scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variety

**Author's Note:**

> Jasley kept asking me questions about what other genres of music would have made it, or wouldn't have. So then this happened.

Well, bluegrass is like country and blues had a baby. It would take open minded people. It's like what Brendon says, one person says something and everyone's fucked. Any sort of country fusion would probably have more betrayers than a punk scene. But I don’t think it's impossible.

(j)Well bluegrass started for rural dances, sooo maybe the rural hills who already mistrust the government that still hold shindigs.

OMG, now I'm picturing like Gabe or Bert or Ryan Ross just showing up and being all I HEAR YOU HAVE MUSIC??? and the guy in the trucker hat tells Momma to go get the shotgun.

(j)Go get it? She's probably already carrying it, the butt of the shotgun balanced on her hip, wiping her other hand off on her apron.

Bert... "Hey now, no need for violence. Wanna hug it out?" He's pretty used to inciting dramatic reactions from people, but normally it's fists, not guns.

Momma does that thing where you pull on the brown bit to load but not shoot off a bullet (cocking it?) because Momma does not hug men with long hair and pink shirts. They are to be watched, not trusted. Who knows if they're part of the government and going to try to take her gun and land from her?

Bert's says “okay, whatever, shoot me. But lemme hear the music too. Also, I heard you people have moonshine? I've never had that shit, but it sounds good.”

Sadly the gathering of people does not offer Bert a cup of delicious home brew. They look more likely to cut him open and wring out his liver for their own cups of alcohol, actually. Bert’s about to try for a third time to get this shit rolling when his phone rings.

It’s Quinn, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Where the hell are you? Jepha said you didn't get in his car (AN: obviously no one can do tour buses anymore. A few try to get away with RV's, most drive two or three to a car, instruments concealed as best as possible). In fact Jepha said you told him you were getting in our car.”

Bert laughs into the phone, shouting just to piss him off even more. “I'M IN ALABAMA, HORSEFUCKER. I'M GONNA LEARN BLUEGRASS AND WE'RE GONNA PLAY IT, START A NEW WAVE OF MUSIC. SCREW PUNK.”

Quinn sighs. “Goddamn it, get your ass back to the venue.”

Bert cackles. “I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE VENUE IS, I WAS DRUNK WHEN YOU PLANNED THIS SHIT OUT. Also? Fuck you, bitch. Also come on! New wave of music! When we're the only ones with a goddamn jug to breath in on the scene, and everyone comes to watch us, you'll be happy, assface.”

He can almost see Quinn’s wince. If they were in the same room, Quinn would totally be throwing something at him, or punching him in the chest. “FUCKING ASSHOLE.” (because that's the Used version of fuck my life)

Bert's snickers. “You looooove me, and you'll love me more when I can breath into a jug. Bye!” He hangs up and it rings again immediately but he ignores it and goes over to Momma. “Sooooo, what else do you play? I know your shit is crazy.”


End file.
